


the space between

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coping, Coulson being charming, Coulson is supportive of Daisy and doesn't think she owes him anything, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Loneliness, Male-Female Friendship, Music, Slow Dancing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Just writing a post 4x3 scene which will probably be jossed but oh well!  Daisy and Coulson meet in a bar after the blackout and briefly reconnect.





	

"I almost didn't recognize you."

"Really?"

The smile slowly pulls at the corner of his mouth. "No. Not really."

She guesses that this was something of an inevitability after all.

Them in the same city, hunting the same trail.

Standing at the end of the bar, she watches him twist the glass between his hands.

Probably scotch, knowing his tastes. Maybe even something expensive, after the kind of day the city's had.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

He waves the bartender over as she sits down next to him.

She's not sure what to say next. He's probably wondering how she found him, only, not really. It was YoYo, of course.

And the reason they knew about YoYo was her seeing Mack, while he patched up her arms and tried to guilt her into coming back.

"Whiskey," she tells the bartender, as he waits patiently while she gets her thoughts together. "Something good."

"Do you want to start a tab?"

"I don't think-" she starts, glancing over to make eye contact with Coulson.

"She's buying," he says with a smirk, and lifts his glass to take another sip.

"I guess, then, yes," she answers the bartender, as she frowns at him a little.

"You came into some money recently," he tells her, setting down his glass. "From what I understand."

Nodding slowly, she tips her head and gives him a long look.

She's been avoiding this. Not wanting to have the kind of talk with him like she just did with Mack and Fitz.

There have been scenarios she's run through, in her head. Sometimes when she's been lonely, she's imagined them going well, even.

But his face at the moment, doesn't match the way she imagined it.

Coulson Is kind, and patient, but even a guy like that must have his limits.

"Sure, I guess I owe you a drink. Or two."

He raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn't say anything. It's late. They're both tired. It could only be just that.

It's strange to find herself doubting her ideas when it comes to him. When, not very long ago, she could almost finish his sentences.

"You don't owe me anything," he replies, after a moment. After having some time to think on it.

And just like that.

It is. They are.

She opens her mouth to reply, but finds that she can't find words for it. Only, that it hurts, because this is what she told herself she couldn't have. And that it's wonderful, because she's been so alone all this time.

The bartender sets the whiskey down in front of her, and she takes a long drink. Too long, probably, but she thinks he'll understand.

He smiles at her a little, his eyes tracing over her face, like he's familiarizing himself with her again.

"Your hair's darker."

"Yeah," she agrees, setting the glass down and running her fingers through the ends. "It needed to change."

"To hide?" he goes on, "Or because you wanted to change?"

"Both," she answers, then gives him a small shrug. It's the truth. "Does something about it bother you?"

"It has a certain kind of 'don't mess with me' appeal," he replies, charming as ever.

And he is charming. Coulson has always been too charming for her own good. So charming, and so out of reach.

"How is your whiskey?" he continues, trying to fill any of the silences. To keep her talking.

"I'm not sure," she tells him, as a smile begins. "I didn't really taste much that last time."

Lifting the glass again, she raises it, then slowly takes a sip, while he watches. "Mmm. It's good."

Her tongue licks along her bottom lip, as silence falls between them. And as nice as this is, she knows they can't keep it up forever.

"Look, I know Mack told you-"

"Can we not...talk about any of that?" he interrupts her.

"Okay," she says, surprised that he, of all people, wants to avoid it. He's been tailing her for over six months, just trying to get her to stop for a moment. "What do you want to talk about?"

She takes another long sip, suddenly nervous again.

"Whatever friends talk about when they have a drink."

"Friends?" she asks. Now it's her turn to raise her eyebrows.

"I'd like to think we at least still have that."

It never been clear to her, exactly what they are. But this is a small gesture from him, the kind of overture that she knows is about building trust, taking things slow.

They're both distracted by someone switching on the jukebox, an old jazz tune, old like this bar.

He's right, though. He's not the Director anymore. He's not even her boss. They should be working together on this.

Maybe that's why she came here, really. As much as she wanted to see him, even against her own wishes, it was in the hope that someone in SHIELD could still see the value-

"So you've been working this on your own?"

It's like he practically read her mind.

"Yes," she says, tapping her finger on the rim of her glass.

"Want to share intel?"

The smirk and the eyes and it's all way too flirty. Too easy.

"I know what you're doing," she reminds him, with a tilt of her head, as the bartender walks by to check on them.

"I take it that's a no, then?" He tosses back the rest of his glass, then tips it at the bartender for him to pour another.

They watch as he does, into the same glass, because it's the kind of place that doesn't bother with that sort of thing.

"I didn't say that," she finally answers, putting her hand on his wrist when he goes to lift the drink again. The glass goes back on to the bar and he pushes his chair back.

"Do you want to dance?"

Another surprise and she catches the music in the background, slow, and kind of sultry.

She steps out from behind the bar, and feels his hand lightly touch the small of her back as they walk in between the booths towards a small space near the jukebox.

They fit together neatly, easily, and it's not surprising at all, it's just the proximity.

The last time she did this. She's sure it was in Austin, with Miles. It seems like another lifetime.

Her face presses against his shoulder, the soft black shirt against her hand, and it's obvious he's been hitting the gym since he got back into the field.

"Sometimes I miss your suits," she says, wryly, wondering if he'll get what she's poking around at.

He gives her a quick laugh, and she can hear the smile in his voice, when he says, "I guess I'm used to the feeling of being unraveled at this point."

She pulls back to look into his face. "Is that what this is? You, unraveled?"

"Something like that," he answers, softly, almost making her wonder if he even said it at all, but she can feel his hand tighten for a moment where it rests on her back. "And you?"

It must show on her face, all the things that this has stirred up.

"I have to go," she says, and turns her face to press a kiss against his cheek.

It's not a lie. She can't keep Robbie waiting on her, and she already stayed longer than she intended to.

He looks at her, sad, for only a moment. Then it turns into resignation, and he brushes his fingers along the side of her face, before stepping back.

"C'mon," she says, tipping her head towards the bar.

He has a curious expression on his face, and he follows, leaning against the bar next to her, and she raises her hand to the bartender for the check, then takes the pen out and grabs one of the empty white cocktail napkins, and starts to draw connections.

Then she reaches into her jeans pocket and unfolds the cash and puts some bills out on the bar.

"Next time, drinks are on you," she smirks up at him, folding, then putting the napkin in his front shirt pocket.

"Only drinks?" he says, in that charming way again.

She smiles back and then steps closer to him. Close enough to feel his breath against her face.

"Maybe next time, we'll even get to finish them."

Not that she's entirely sure, but she thinks that he leaned towards her, just as she stepped away.

Like, me might even-

Then she gives the front of his shirt another pat, and turns towards the door, walking out with the image of his wistful smile burned into her brain.

It's even better than she imagined.


End file.
